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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27591776">Lay Down in the Tall Grass</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nocturnalchild/pseuds/Nocturnalchild'>Nocturnalchild</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Adam Driver - Fandom, Silence (2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>17th Century, Alternate Universe - Priests, Bleeding, Christian Character, Christianity, Drama, F/M, Having Faith, Hurt/Comfort, Japan, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Platonic Relationships, father garupe needs a hug, lot of tears, priesthood, wounded garupe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 04:14:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>665</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27591776</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nocturnalchild/pseuds/Nocturnalchild</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Where Father Garupe is saved from death by little hands.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Adam Driver/Original Female Character(s), Francisco Garupe/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Lay Down in the Tall Grass</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello ! this is a drabble written in a moment of inspiration.<br/>My original character is a japanese girl, I refer to her as " Little Virtue" here. Her name is Toku, Toku means Virtue in japanese.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She found him in the tall grass.</p><p>Bleeding</p><p>Dirty</p><p>Emaciated</p><p>Feverish and delirious and …</p><p> </p><p>Her sandals muted by years of exercise and habit, she carefully approached the tall figure laid on the grass. The features of the young woman were still, as she advanced, feline. Only her black eyes translated vigilance, intelligence and a hint of curiosity now.</p><p>She clutched the freshly acquired little folds of white linen to her chest when she finally reached the sight unfolding in front of her in skinny endless limbs, like sad dried bamboo branches, dislocated and displayed to frighten children.</p><p>The young woman gasped.</p><p>If it weren’t for the tremors that shook his body (if she dared call the sad sight before her a body) she would have thought he was dead.</p><p> </p><p><em>Pater noster, qui es in caelis</em>,</p><p><em>sanctificetur nomen tuum</em>.</p><p><em>Adveniat regnum tuum</em>.</p><p><em>Fiat voluntas tua</em>,</p><p><em>sicut in caelo, et in terra</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Francisco’s chapped lips moved through gasps and clattering teeth, eyes transfixed on the emerald blue sky. What a beautiful day that was. All the birds of Japan sang, the lords unfurled their red and blue fans, the maidens played in joyous circles, brides in white silk smiled, black teeth shone in the bright daylight and little toddlers babbled in their cradles. Geishas played their instruments, moved their white fingers on the thin strings and Christians died, and Christians trampled on holy icons, and Christians drowned in the deep, deep black ocean.</p><p> </p><p><em>Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie</em>,</p><p><em>et dimitte nobis debita nostra</em>,</p><p><em>sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris</em>.</p><p><em>Et ne nos inducas in tentationem</em>,</p><p><em>sed libera nos a malo</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Francisco thought that the time had finally come. White angel wings batted before his eyes, and he smiled.</p><p> </p><p><em>Amen</em>.</p><p> </p><p>She found him in the tall grass</p><p>Bleeding</p><p>Dirty</p><p>Emaciated</p><p>Feverish and delirious and … beautiful.</p><p> </p><p>Fleeting fire sparks died in the dark, distant howling haunted the night. Francisco heard far angels’ chants as light deserted his vision. Little by little, the voices diminished, then they ceased. Francisco opened his eyes, drawing in a deep shaky breath.</p><p>“Padre”</p><p>*</p><p>White sheet after white sheet, they fell at her feet. Little Virtue with little hands. Who would have ever known. White sheets stained with rust colored blood that mingled with the earth’s dirt. She wiped and wiped, hours after hours, fresh white sheet after stained bloodied one. They landed on the cold floor of her poor hut, like dried rose petals.</p><p>In vain little Virtue tried to remember her prayers, none came to mind as she wiped and wiped. Dry hands trembling as if touching a sacred relic.</p><p>Wasn’t he?</p><p>Now she washed the body of the priest with her tears. Layers after layers of his torn clothes, she peeled them off his fragile frame, eyes tracing his sacred wounds with reverence.</p><p>The fire swelled in the center of the room, cast dancing shadows on the martyred body, like it did once on the wooden god on the cross, ribs exposed for the Roman’s spear.</p><p>*</p><p>“Padre” was a word she remembered well, at least.</p><p>Black grateful crescents met amber.</p><p>The priest’s hands fled to his martyred nakedness, and pain exploded through his veins. He winced and she cried again.</p><p>She had her hands joined in supplication, prayers she forgot existed left her lips, only for him.</p><p>“Angel” he whispered, a small smile fighting the pain inside.</p><p>Little Virtue brushed his wet curls, clearing his sweaty forehead.</p><p>“I thought angels had taken me to His side, at last…”</p><p>She nodded.</p><p>“But it was… you”</p><p>She nodded.</p><p>The stars moved in the sky. Francisco sang holy prayers, his tired voice barely ghosting Little Virtue’s ears and she listened and she wiped his forehead and she cried.</p><p>“They killed them all. They thought they killed me too.” She wept more so.</p><p>“Forgive me father for I have sinned”</p><p>He smiled.</p><p>“Welcome back, child”</p><p>The night curled on itself, the fox and the owl howled. Francisco closed his eyes. Little Virtue dreamed of paradise.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Also, the title comes from this song : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fQTXGwnOvnk&amp;ab_channel=mollielaRue</p></blockquote></div></div>
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